


The Trickster's Plot

by elfofthedarkside



Series: The Universe Where Jackie Exists [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Again, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Faked Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mild Language, POV First Person, and author couldn't stop it, author is making up magic rules in an established universe, author was having fun until the halfway point, but still, i mean its fake, loki is a little shit, loki is my muse evidently, semi in-depth depiction of suicide, then shit got serious, well... mild-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 09:18:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17864657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfofthedarkside/pseuds/elfofthedarkside
Summary: Loki survived the Dark Elves' assault only to be dragged back to his cell. But something is coming. Something bad. He knows he can't stay there, and when two SHIELD Agents arrive on Asgard for a peace mission, Loki sees his way out. But what is he willing to do, and what if everything goes wrong?





	The Trickster's Plot

**Author's Note:**

> (*future me edit* draft name was "dark world au + meeting jackie (no pressure or anything tho)" listen i just think i'm hilarious and you need to see these ok bye)
> 
> Got my little siblings to watch Ragnarok last night lads and it sparked something in me. Loki is my muse once more. I just hope I don't relapse into my depressed/edgy 14-year-old self.
> 
> This vague idea of a plot involving Loki faking his death has literally been in the works for five years. I wanted something like this to happen ever since I saw Avengers Assemble. And now look at it. I have brought it to life. And it's way less angsty than it originally was, but still works! Yay me!

“You should be thankful I know exactly which of the Allfather’s buttons to push.”

One of the agents--Clark?--just sighs. The other, whose name wholly escapes me, asks, “So…?”

I manage my most brilliant smile. “You have his permission to do what you will with me, save letting me go.” I chuckle. “Of course, if, Nords forbid, I happen to die in my cell, you would be allowed to take my corpse with you back to Midgard for further study.”

“Surely they’d be able to tell if you were faking,” Clark says, bringing up a point he’s already presented twice before.

“Dear mortal, you wound me.” I step closer to the wall, as close as I dare without alerting the magical sensors. “Are my powers really so apparently weak to warrant such doubt?”

The other clears her throat. “I think my partner just is curious how you’d pull it off. It’s quite the feat.”

I have refused thus far to explain my method, and I’m not planning on doing so now either. Best to have at least a few cards to myself, especially in such an unsteady agreement as this.

“I will take care of it. That is all you need to know.” I pause. “Although, I won’t be able to pull it off for a few weeks. Carry on with your experiments as was your original plan. I shall end it when the time is right.”

“Why not now?”

I click my tongue, shaking my head. “Your kind are so impatient. I suppose since your lives are so incredibly short compared to ours, it is expected, but still.” I turn, stretching, before reclining on the bed provided for me. “Acting so soon would arise suspicions. It’s better if you are as surprised as everyone else.”

“And even if he doesn’t end up doing it, we still get our results.”

I laugh. “See? This one is much better at this. Could I have your name? I don’t think I caught it.”

She smiled thinly. “You may not, but you may call me Wilson.”

_ That _ prompt a true laugh. Delighted, I sit and turn my full attention to Agent Wilson. “Clever. I didn’t think Midgardians were so wary of Faerie tricks, simple as that was.”

“You’d be surprised what kind of shit I see in this job.” She nods, as if disbanding the conversation. “We’ll be back soon. See you later.”

She and Agent Clark, who seems somewhat peeved at the attention I was giving Wilson, turn and leave down the corridor. I allow myself to relax slightly, lying back again.  _ This will be fun. _

\-----

Agent Clark doesn’t seem to have many qualms with being rough with me. In any case, I welcomed any physical touch. I knew once I executed my plan (pardon the play on words), there wouldn’t be any call for it for quite a while.

It was mostly experiments concerning my powers’ interactions with the Tesseract. Their handling of the artifact was supervised, of course. At first they were apprehensive, considering the fact that I might still have a connection to it. I haven’t disclosed the small fact that I had, and have, no idea how to utilise its powers. Somehow, even with the slightest chance they believed me, I don’t think they would take kindly to that.

Somehow, I doubt  _ he _ would take kindly to me disclosing his existence.

I also failed to mention my true reason for faking my death. News of my death would surely reach him, and then, assuming everything works according to plan, he will give up hope of trying to find me. Every time these agents, these representatives of SHIELD, cause me pain, I can endure it solely because I know if he found me the pain would be a thousand times worse.

As long as I can avoid ever seeing him again, I can, and will, do anything.

Back to the task at hand.

Thor visits every day. It’s endearing, truly. I almost feel bad; he will most certainly be one of the first to discover my body. That is sure to have some sort of negative psychological effect on him, but it can’t be helped. No one but SHIELD, not even Thor, can know I still live.

I must admit, I am tremendously proud of my acting. I have successfully managed to look more and more mentally weary with every day. Thor has begun asking if I am feeling well. Of course, I bristle and avoid answering; I avert my eyes and tell him to piss off, even going so far as to flinch when he attempts to comfort. We both know physical interaction is impossible, his likeness is simply projected into my cell. Still, I think it gives the performance an extra level. It’s subtle, but effective.

I am a bit ashamed to say I did break character slightly the other day when he came in with one of the storybooks Mother used to read to us before putting us to bed. His jaw was set, clearly determined to read the story and make a connection no matter what I did or said. It was pleasant, I will confess. A warm rush of nostalgia overcame me, and even though I tried to convince myself it was all part of the act, I wasn’t planning on the tears choking my farewell that day.

\-----

Using magic in this cell is difficult, but not impossible. Thank the Nords I will be mostly relying on my inborn Jotun magic. I figured the simplest method would be hanging, as there would be no blood to worry about and no external wounds. Best of all, no need to go in-depth with an examination of my body. It will be fairly obvious what killed me.

Still, the bedsheets they gave me aren’t the best for this purpose. It isn’t a problem to create a hook of some sort to anchor it to the ceiling, but the thread count is unacceptable.

I suppose it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for the spoiled former prince to demand finer materials, but in the end I just make do.

Well. There’s only one thing to do now.

Frankly, I wasn’t expecting it to be this painful. The ripped sheets’ rough edges dig into my throat, putting altogether too much pressure on my windpipe. Though I suppose it is meant to be deadly. Perhaps I am being too picky.

I take one last deep breath, the tingling in my extremities due to loss of oxygen and magic running through them being impossible to differentiate. The cold rush through my mind is somewhere between need-for-blood and ice. Cold. Colder. Coldest. My head feels like it’s being slowly shifted apart from itself. My heart is clutched in what feels like the vastness of outer space itself.

I close my eyes. I can’t feel my fingers, hands, arms. Sound rushes through my ears, but then there’s nothing. I’m in the dark. Alone. Everything slows.

_ Nothing. _

\-----

_ One. _

_ Two. _

_ Three. _

_ Four. _

_ Heartbeats. _

_ A breath. _

_ Air. _

_ Cold. _

_ So goddamn cold. _

_ Warmth. _

_ Pins and needles. _

_ A twitch. _

_ One finger. _

_ One hand. _

_ Eyelids. _

_ Mouth. _

“What the Hel?”

My voice is strained and shaky, my vocal chords not thawed enough to vibrate properly.

There’s a light. It’s… dimmer than expected.

_ Nords, why is my heartbeat so loud? _

I raise a hand to my face, my blood vessels cracking as blood begins flowing properly. I press a few fingers to my throat, feeling for a pulse. Still too slow, but there. And loud.

I inhale deeply. I sit up, carefully. The rushing blood feels far too hot, the feeling they bring far too sharp. My tongue tastes of metal. My sight is blurred.

There is someone standing over me.

I force myself to assess my position before questioning them. I am in a box of some sort. Cold. Metal. It seems to be on a track, pulled out of the wall behind me like a drawer.

The person doesn’t stop me from looking around, just watches. Waits.

Finally, my eyes thaw enough for me to see things clearly. I blink a few times, before examining the person. Human. Female. Average height. Young adult. Short hair. Rumpled, torn, slightly burnt clothes. There’s something strange about her, though. I can’t…

Wait. I reach out, praying my magic still is available. I lower my sight to let in higher energies, studying her aura.

Curious.

And then my eyes fall on her jacket. More specifically, the words embroidered on the collarbone area.  _ Stark Industries. _

“Damn it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I don’t usually get that response unless the person knows me. Have we met?”

I shake my head. “I know your, er, boss. Anthony Stark.”

She squints, analysing my face. “You look familiar.”

I don’t dare tell her my true identity. I shrug, the movement sending a wave of painful feeling through me. I wince. “Are you with SHIELD?”

“SHIELD?” She looks concerned. “Shit, I didn’t realise… How long have you been in here?”

“Well, seeing as I’ve been unconscious,” I drawl, “How should I know?”

That earns a small grin, quirking the ends of her mouth. It fades quickly, though. “Hold up. That’s not the weirdest thing happening right now.” She shakes her head, pointing an accusatory finger toward me. “The life readings on this case were nonexistent. This was the last one with something in it, and until a second ago you were a corpse.”

I lick my lips, unsure what to say, how much she’d accept. “I am… not… necessarily… bound by the same physical rules you are.”

“Bullshit.” She glares at me. “No heartbeat one second, sitting up and talking the next. Not possible. And trust me, I’ve seen impossible. This isn’t even remotely on the same level.”

I open my mouth, but before I can think of a response she gasps. “Holy fuck, you’re Loki, aren’t you? Like,  _ the _ Loki.”

“Ah…” I chuckle nervously. “And if I am?”

“You- shit, dude, you’re supposed to be dead. You died, like, four years ago.” She squints at me. “Did Thor lie?”

“No,” I answer honestly. “He truly thought I was dead--everyone did, except for a few chosen SHIELD Agents. They brought me here to study my magic, mostly, and…” I trail off, struck with a realisation. “They… I was supposed to wake up when we arrived in Midgard. I made sure to give the spell enough time, but surely it would have broken before now…”

She shrugs, puzzled. “Well, this is a cryo chamber, man. My guess is they froze you immediately to insure you were under control. Maybe they did tests, but they had you frozen on their terms.”

This idea made my blood boil. “We had a deal! Those fucking bastards, when I find them I swear to all the stars I will make them regret-”

“Hey, uh, dude? Loki?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face, waiting for me to look at her. “That won’t do much good. Even if the guys who did this to you weren’t killed, SHIELD disbanded three years ago. There was a secret section that stayed uncorrupted, but if they knew about you I’m sure they would have moved you.” She gestures vaguely. “This place is falling apart, no one’s been here in forever.”

I grind my teeth, forcing myself to take deep breaths. My lungs still burn as if I am inhaling nitrogen, but at least I can feel my feet again. “What year is it?” I ask quietly.

“2017.” She laughs. “You were probably better off being out of it. There’s some  _ shit _ going down.”

I am almost too scared to ask. “What exactly happened?”

“Short version? A maniac was elected president, the government tried to control the Avengers because Tony tried to figure out how your staff ticked and set a horrifying robot army on the world, Bruce disappeared and now half the Avengers are fugitives.” She laughs again, at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, I suppose. “Oh yeah, and Tony and I are secretly harboring the fugitives in a remote private island’s basement, despite the fact that he was trying to kill one of them last year. And there’s new Star Wars movies!”

I blink. “I understand… half of that. Hold on--Stark used the staff?”

“Yeah. Well, he took the little gem out of it and kinda turned his security AI into a human-ish thing that’s, like, super powerful and stuff.” She says this as if it’s the most normal thing she’s mentioned. “Vision. He’s pretty chill. He’s basically the internet.”

My blood runs cold, though this time it’s purely fear. “He released the Infinity Stone?”

“Is that the orange thing in Vision’s forehead?”

It’s suddenly difficult to breathe. I’ve missed four years, only to wake surely right before he arrives. I feel myself shaking, though not from cold. “You… you released the Infinity Stone and… connected it to your internet?”

She furrows her brow, concerned. “Yeah… What, is that bad?”

I feel a sob escape me. “It’s connected to the largest antenna on your planet. For how long?”

“Uh, about two years?”

“Oh, gods.” I can barely control my voice. “He’s sure to have felt it. He’s on his way. He must be.”

“H- hold on!”

“I have to get out of here, please.” I reach up and grasp at her forearms, not caring how desperate and scared I sound. “Put me back in cryo. Anything. I can’t- I can’t- not again-”

“Whoa!” She manages to keep calm, meeting my eyes, her voice low. “You’ve gotta calm down. I think I need to know what you’re talking about.”

“I- I can’t-” My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it will break my ribcage.

“Hey, hey.” Her grip tightens. “Listen. I’m gonna take you to our secret island, ‘kay?”

“He’ll f- f- find- find me-!”

“He won’t.” She says this with such confidence. If only she knew. “We’re gonna figure this out.”

I can’t stop shaking.  _ I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, I hate- _

“Loki.” Her voice is the only thing grounding me. “My name is Jackie Bateman. I work for Tony Stark. We can help you. Let me help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory, backstory. Ok, so Jackie is a character I've also been toying with for a while (not as long as Loki though). I wrote little bits of her story on my old ff dot net account but I'll probably post them here soon just to get some context. I love her to pieces. She's Tony's assistant in the aftermath of Civil War, and she's where Bucky's story diverges from canon as she takes care of him and works to undo some of the affects of Hydra.
> 
> Tl;dr: I have an oc in every fandom, but this oc I actually still like.
> 
> I'm starting a new series for this universe, but considering my track record of actually finishing things I dunno what will happen with it. I might just jump around with the story, I might continue Loki's part. Who knows? Not me!
> 
> No to beg, but if you are curious on how things happen leave kudos and comments so I know! Thanks for reading :)


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